


Exacting Rules

by Anonymous



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, Corporal Punishment, Gen, Guilt, M/M, Spanking, TW: disordered eating, also with a ruler, corner time, with a ruler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 20:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Listen,” Combeferre offered, “if you insist on being hurt… perhaps a compromise can be reached.  But I refuse to allow you to endanger yourself like this.  You will eat, and once you have done so, we can discuss more reasonable methods of atonement.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exacting Rules

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following prompt on the Les Misérables kinkmeme:
> 
> "I'd love to see something with some Amis and a harsh corner time punishment, because I've been looking through the meme and can't find much of anything. Kneeling on rice, wall sitting after a spanking, squatting with the hands tied behind the back, standing on tip-toes with pointed rocks beneath the heels in case they come down? I'd love focus on the pure discomfort and on the frustration of not knowing how long is left. Maybe the person being punished even has to guess when their time is up and have time added if they leave too soon.
> 
> Other things that would be pluses: spanking, bladder control, blindfolding, freezing showers. I'd rather not see overtly sexual stuff or dirty humiliation talk.
> 
> Feuilly punishing Enjolras, either direction with Enjolras and Combeferre, or Combeferre punishing Courfeyrac would be great. Or one of these people self-punishing, even. Preference for canon, but I'll happily take an AU!"

When Enjolras came to, he was lying on his back with his knees bent and his feet on the floor.  His cravat had been untied, and Combeferre was kneeling at his side, taking his pulse.  It was only the two of them; the rest of the room had apparently been cleared.  Enjolras attempted to sit up.  “What… what happened?”

 

“You fainted,” Combeferre responded simply.

 

Enjolras still seemed a bit dazed.  He blinked several times.  “Oh.”

 

“Your pulse is slow, and you look pale.”  Combeferre’s brow furrowed as he scrutinized Enjolras for any sign of a possible explanation.  “Have your habits changed recently?  Have you been sleeping less?”

 

Enjolras looked away, unable to meet Combeferre’s eyes.  He knew his friend would be upset with him, and he instinctively wanted to lie but realized that it would do him no good.  Finally, he admitted quietly, “Haven’t… haven’t been eating.  Not since my latest failure to act with due haste allowed those workers’ wages to drop and, in doing so, took food off their families’ tables…”

 

“Three days,” Combeferre calculated quickly.  “You haven’t eaten in three days?”

 

Enjolras shook his head, which only made him feel dizzy.

 

Combeferre grew stern.  “Failing to eat well compromises both your body and your mind!  You cannot lead anyone in this condition.  You’re doing nothing to help our position by hurting yourself, Enjolras.”

 

“I failed them, Combeferre!”  A pause, and then he continued, more quietly, “ _I deserve to be hurt._ ”

 

Combeferre rebuked him harshly.  “Hurt is one thing, but you are doing yourself  _harm_.”  Upon seeing the distressed look on Enjolras’ face, however, he sighed heavily.  “Listen,” Combeferre said, and his voice had softened; he was about to make a concession.  “If you insist on being hurt… perhaps a compromise can be reached.  But I refuse to allow you to endanger yourself like this.  You  _will_ eat, and once you have done so, we can discuss more reasonable methods of atonement.”

 

This suggestion seemed to placate him, and after a moment of thought, Enjolras nodded his agreement.

 

* * *

 

Enjolras had eaten the previous evening, as well as this morning; Combeferre had only agreed to punish him on the condition that it would not be on an empty stomach, which he had insisted would be too dangerous.  Digestion afterward had been uncomfortable, even somewhat painful, but Enjolras had to admit that he did feel much more himself the next day, better able to think and to concentrate.  In short, Combeferre had been right; to starve himself would be a disservice to their cause, and the measures they were about to take were more sound.

 

He was currently seated at the table in Combeferre’s lodgings, waiting for him to return from his bedroom.  When Combeferre finally entered the room again, Enjolras stood from his chair and turned toward him.  Combeferre now had a length of wood in one hand which he was tapping against the opposite palm.  He held it out, offering it to Enjolras; it was a wooden ruler.

 

“I want you to study this.”

 

Enjolras accepted the ruler and examined it closely, turning it over in his hands.  It was one metre long, made of sturdy boxwood, yellowish, marked along its edge with fine gradations.  As he inspected it, Combeferre continued to speak.

 

“As you can see, this rule is precisely calibrated, crafted to exacting standards so that it can be used to take the most accurate measurements possible.  It’s also durable, made to withstand a good deal of use.”  Satisfied that Enjolras had gotten a good look at it, he held out his hand to request it back.  Enjolras nodded and returned the ruler, which Combeferre kept in his grasp.  “Now,” he continued, his tone cool but strict, “you will remove your trousers and place them on that chair.  Then, you will bend over the back of the chair and grip the seat of it.  Do you understand?”

 

Enjolras’ eyes widened, but he nodded.  “Yes, Combeferre.”  He quickly stripped himself of his trousers and folded them, placing them on the chair’s seat as ordered.  Slowly, he bent over the back of the chair, adjusting his shirttail to uncover himself without being asked before moving to grip the seat.  Combeferre hummed his approval at Enjolras’ cooperation before addressing him again.

 

“I recognize that you hold yourself to a high standard, and strict rules can be good.  However,” he chastised, “excessive stringency is not.  In fact, the application of too exacting a rule can hurt you.”  As if to demonstrate his point, Combeferre sharply applied his own exacting rule to Enjolras’ backside.  This drew forth a soft gasp, and caused a broad, pink line to blossom on the pale flesh.  Combeferre paused several seconds to allow the sting to sink in before striking again.  Snap, snap, snap!  Three more stripes were painted across Enjolras’ ass in quick succession, and his hips gave a small wiggle.  “Stay still,” Combeferre said firmly, then delivered another three strokes at the same pace.

 

Enjolras’ hands were gripping the seat of the chair tightly, and he was surprised by how difficult it already was to hold himself still.  More strokes fell, and the stinging in his backside intensified with each one, but for the most part he managed not to move.  Before long, he’d taken a full dozen.

 

“Good so far,” Combeferre reassured, “but I don’t want to have to repeat this lesson.”  He snapped the ruler down hard across already reddened skin, and Enjolras hissed.  “Twelve more, I think.”  The next six came quickly, but no less sharply, criss-crossing over the existing welts, and Enjolras lowered his head with a heavy breath.  The blows stung fiercely.  Three to the tops of his thighs, a pause, then three more to the fullest part of his ass, and Combeferre had delivered the twenty-five strokes.  Enjolras sighed with relief.  “All right, Enjolras.  Up.”

 

Enjolras gingerly stood upright and turned to face Combeferre.  He still held the ruler, and while his expression showed some concern, it held little mercy.  Enjolras swallowed nervously.

 

Combeferre gestured with the hand holding the ruler, pointing it at the corner of the room.  “Stand over there with your nose in the corner.  Now.”

 

Enjolras immediately obeyed, moving toward the empty corner with Combeferre following behind.  Once there, Combeferre bent down and laid the ruler on the floor before him.  “You will kneel facing the corner,” he instructed Enjolras, “with your knees resting on this rule, and your hands behind your head.  You will stay here until I decide you are finished.  Is that clear?”

 

Enjolras nodded, and when Combeferre motioned for him to do so, he knelt down on the ruler.  He raised his hands and rested them against the back of his head, just as instructed, and fixed his gaze on the wall in front of him.

 

Before leaving Enjolras to his punishment, Combeferre rolled up the back of his shirt to expose his reddened backside to the room.  He left only briefly to retrieve a book from his bedroom, then seated himself at the table to read.

 

Enjolras was surprised by how self-conscious he felt like this.  Waiting in the corner like a naughty child, his still-stinging ass on display, unable to rub the ache away or even to cover himself with his hands or his shirt.  His heart sunk when he heard Combeferre’s footsteps retreating from the room—was he to be left alone like this, was that part of his punishment?—but thankfully, they soon returned.  He wondered what Combeferre was doing behind him: admiring his own handiwork?  He had made sure Enjolras’ bottom was exposed, after all.  Enjolras felt his face getting hot at the thought.  He couldn’t hear Combeferre moving anymore, so perhaps… and then Enjolras heard the rustle of a page turning.  Ah, he was reading.  Then again, perhaps that didn’t bode well for Enjolras either; he knew Combeferre was often content to read for hours on end.  How long was he going to be kneeling there?

 

The minutes passed, and Enjolras tried to keep track of time by counting the number of pages Combeferre had turned, but he lost count somewhere between ten and twenty.  His initial curiosity at having been made to kneel on the ruler was now gone, replaced by an intense discomfort in his knees which soon threatened to turn into outright pain.  He tried to shift his weight from one leg to the other, but to no avail; no matter what he did, his body continued to press uncomfortably down onto the wood.  It was clearly intended to be a part of his punishment, along with the waiting.  And the waiting itself was awful.  The only thing worse than not knowing how long he’d already been there in the corner was not knowing how much time he had left.

 

Soon enough, Enjolras began to get restless.  Idleness was something he found difficult to deal with in general; he always tried to keep himself busy, not only because there was always work to be done, but also because he hated the way his mind had a tendency to wander when unoccupied.  To be kneeling there doing nothing was making him feel immensely frustrated.  In addition, his mental upset was only exacerbated when combined with his current physical complaints.  By now, the pain in his backside had mostly faded to a not-unpleasant warmth, but the edges of the wooden ruler were cutting painfully into the flesh of his legs, and his arms were starting to tire.  Simply standing in the corner would have been bad enough, but this was getting intolerable.

 

So lost was Enjolras in his own head that he didn’t even register the sound of Combeferre closing his book and setting it on the table, then standing and walking over to where he knelt in the corner.  As if from nowhere, Enjolras felt a warm hand on his shoulder and heard a comforting voice behind him.

 

“All right, Enjolras.  Time’s up.  You can get up now.”

 

Enjolras raised himself slowly to his feet, letting his aching arms fall to his sides as he stood and faced Combeferre.  His knees throbbed where they’d been resting on the ruler, a thick red mark imprinted there, and his legs in general felt shaky.  Without even thinking about it, he reached out and grasped Combeferre’s arm to steady himself, clinging tightly and bracing against him until he felt able to stand.  Combeferre rested his free hand on Enjolras’ waist; the other held his discarded trousers, which he offered as soon as Enjolras had fully righted himself.  Enjolras took the trousers gratefully and immediately pulled them on, tucking his shirt in and fastening them before finally looking up at Combeferre. 

 

“I…” Enjolras began, unsure exactly what he wanted to say.  “That was… instructive.  Your point is well-taken, and I will try to hold myself to a more reasonable standard in the future.”  He sighed.  “Thank you, Combeferre.”

 

Combeferre’s expression softened, looking more relieved than anything else.  “See that you do.”

 

Enjolras nodded, then asked in a voice more timid than usual, “Would you like to dine together this evening?”

 

Finally, Combeferre smiled.  “Of course.”


End file.
